Interesting Bedfellows
by Fictionata
Summary: In a post-war world, where people and feelings have changed, Hermione Granger tries to find answers in the bottom of a glass. That is, until Draco Malfoy holds out a hand for her. "Now, friend, let us find a more comfortable place to get to know each other." Dramione. Dark!Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

Alcohol had never been her vice of choice. No, Hermione Granger was more of a workaholic, one who threw herself into research and reading as if her life depended on it. And at one point it did. At one point she had been, despite the horrifying circumstances, with her best friend and former lover, hunting down a madman and trying to survive in a world at war. She didn't need alcohol to get through that. She didn't need alcohol to get through the stress of university entrance exams or losing her beloved Crookshanks. No, alcohol only ever came in handy with one thing:

Ronald Weasley.

She'd tried. She tried to make things work between them. Ron liked girls with short hair–she cut hers. Ron loved Quidditch–so she took a position as a secretary with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ron enjoyed sweets and pastries–she took night classes to get her certification in baking. Ron wanted to stay close to family–so she moved into a tiny apartment in Ottery St. Catchpole so they were a stone throw away from the Burrow. When he had proposed a year ago and told her he wanted to have a long engagement, she agreed because he would travel a lot in his position as a chaser for the Chudley Cannons. She had given so much to him, _for_ him, that she hardly realized how much she was losing herself.

The day she came home to find Ron in bed with another woman was the last straw. She could deal with the comments about her appearance. She could deal with his critique of her working too hard or too much or not enough. She could deal with the fact he thought she could be a little more adventurous when they had sex. With everything she had given up for him, she would have expected for him to remain faithful. They had been friends before lovers, and she thought he had at least that much respect for her. She had been wrong.

And so, she found herself at this seedy bar, in this seedy neighborhood, drinking her fifth subpar vodka cranberry in a failing attempt to drown her sorrows. She could not research this problem away. There was nothing to figure out, really. She hadn't been good enough for Ron no matter how much she tried to change to suit him. He had been the problem, she concluded, as his ego and desire to feed it outweighed his love for her.

That didn't mean it hurt any less.

It had been a month already. A month since she'd moved out of that smothering little village and into a flat in Diagon Alley. A month since she had spoken to him, or Harry, or any of the other Weasleys for the emotional energy it took to deal with their questions and prying. A month since she had been coming to this bar, drinking the same drink and thinking the same thoughts. She was thoroughly dissatisfied with her life, and at this point, she had no idea what to do about it.

"The liquor here is shit. I didn't think you had good taste, but even this is a surprise."

Hermione didn't need to look up to know who had spoken. She'd heard that same taunting voice hundreds of times before in the hallways of Hogwarts, and the nightmares of war that still plagued her sleep.

"As long as the effect is the same, does it matter?" She murmured before tossing the last few sips of the drink back and sliding the empty glass to the side with the other four.

"Quality, Granger, is key," Draco Malfoy chided, observing her slouched shoulders and half-lidded eyes. "Your standards for alcohol seem to be just as poor as your taste in men."

At this, Hermione's eyes narrowed. Her break up with Ron was no secret from the public, but she would have thought that even if _she hadn't_ gotten over it after a month, at least the rest of the world would have. Figures it would be her childhood bully to remind her of just how much of a spectacle she still was in the eyes of the media, even six years after the war.

"What do you want Malfoy?" She asked, signaling the barmaid to bring over yet another unsatisfying drink. "Don't you have babies to eat or something?"

"I'm watching my figure," he answered with a shrug. "Besides, I was supposed to be meeting someone, and they are late. I supposed I would catch up with you instead. Seemed like a worthwhile endeavor."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You will be most disappointed to know I prefer the solitude of the void while drinking. So, if you could be on your merry way…" She shooed him away lazily with one hand while accepting the drink from the barmaid with the other.

"I think not. I'm quite intrigued by this side of Hermione Granger," Malfoy said, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in the chair.

"Don't take pity on the poor, poor mudblood. She's had enough of that, thank you very much." She missed the flash of anger in his eyes but could see his lips turn down into a frown. "What? That's all I ever was to your sort, an anomaly that both infuriated and fascinated. I'm not stupid, Draco Malfoy. Far from it. If you want a little plaything to entertain you for a while, you've approached the wrong witch." The slight slur of her words did not hinder her acidic tone.

"Someone's full of themselves," Malfoy snorted. "I have playthings, as you so put it, to spare. What would I stand to gain to make you one of them? I merely extend an offer of friendship in what seems to be a most trying time for you."

Hermione, despite her dulled senses and simmering rage, regarded him carefully. Draco Malfoy had always been a beautiful boy and had grown into an equally pretty man. His hair was swept back from his face in a very effortless style, and skin that once looked too pale to be healthy now glowed with youthful vigor. His color of choice remained black, as indicated by the slim-fit black dress-shirt and subtle, yet beautiful obsidian ring her wore around his thumb. She would readily admit that he was attractive, but that personality of his left something to be desired.

"An offer of friendship?" She finally responded. "Malfoy and the Mudblood does have a certain ring to it."

"I've seen it myself–your blood is the same color as mine." He fixed her with a steely gaze. She didn't challenge him; that day in Malfoy Manor would be one she never forgot, and it was clear he would either.

"I already _have_ friends," she said. Malfoy made a show of looking around the bar and even went so far to lean sideways to peer under the table.

"And where, pray tell, are those friends now? Surely, they would be here with you, trying to talk you out of this sorry excuse for alcohol."

She couldn't argue with that logic. None of the friends she had made in the past six years had done much more for her than give condolences on her broken engagement, and certainly none had offered to come out to the bars with her while she attempted to find the answers in the bottom of a highball glass.

Hermione leaned her head on her hands and gave him a wan smile. At some point in her consideration of his offer he must have ordered drinks for them both as the barmaid arrived to present them with two shot glasses full of a clear liquid that smelled as if they would burn a hole through steel. She snatched up the shot and held it up to toast.

"To new friends," she said and down the shot. Malfoy grinned and followed her lead, masking a grimace at the taste of the cheap spirit.

His meeting forgotten, Draco Malfoy held out a hand for her. "Now, friend, let us find a more comfortable place to get to know each other."


	2. Chapter 2

Draco had been having a relatively dull night until he walked into that bar and seen Gryffindor Princess Hermione Granger sitting at a table alone, looking as if she wanted to bash her head against the table. At first, he didn't recognize her – she had cut her hair – but then he'd seen those eyes. The deep brown eyes that still haunted his nightmares looked around without seeming to see.

Approaching the table seemed natural. The person he'd come to meet was already late, and he might as well make the most of his time. She barely looked at him as he sat down, and he didn't blame her. He had been her tormentor for the formative years of their lives. He half expected her to hex him for daring to get within such close proximity, but with the amount of alcohol he observed she had imbibed since he'd arrived, he doubted she would have her wits about her enough to do so.

He controlled his surprise that she accepted, even if temporarily, his offer of companionship. He hadn't lied when he said she'd interested him. From his memories of her, she had been an insufferable swot that felt the need to prove herself to everyone. This woman whom had her arm twined through his as they entered his favorite nightclub, seemed dangerous. He repressed a shiver; he'd always been attracted to danger.

"I didn't know you were the night club sort," Hermione said, eyeing the place in hazy curiosity. "I always took you for one to enjoy ritzy Parisian gentleman's lounges."

"There is no such thing as a ritzy gentleman's club. Much less in Paris," Draco corrected. He led them through the throng of people writhing and gyrating on the dance floor.

"I never thought I'd see the day," A smooth voice greeted as they slid into a secluded booth near the rear of the club. Hermione may have been drunk but she could still recognize the deep drawl of one Blaise Zabini.

"Zabini, I didn't expect you to be here," Draco greeted. The other man grinned and said nothing, instead letting his eyes rake over Hermione as she gazed lazily back at him.

"I had a feeling tonight would be an interesting night, and indeed I wasn't wrong," Zabini responded, his eyes never leaving Hermione. "I see you've made a new friend."

"Friend is not the word I'd use," Hermione mused, staring at him with equal abandon. Like Draco, Blaise was a very beautiful man. His ochre-colored skin reminded her of the soft sunlight spilling through the leaves of an autumn forest. She eyed his drink. "Margarita? Once again I am surprised by the preference of Slytherin men."

"Well, we all know how your judgement when it comes to men is flawed," Blaise teased. Hermione flashed him a toothy smile, and again Draco saw that predatory look in her eyes.

"I'm not particularly enamored of either of you, yet here I am," she settled for saying, shifting her attentions away from Blaise and towards Draco. "I still don't understand why, but I suppose if the drinks are free, then it wouldn't do to protest too much." As if waiting for that signal, the waiter appeared to take their drink orders.

"Ah, so that's the reason you're here," Blaise quipped, sipping his aforementioned margarita. "You're unattached and you took up the first offer of booze and company from a pretty man." Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she let a slow smile spread across her lips.

"No, I fucked the first man to offer booze and company. Too bad he was terrible in bed, or I would be with him right now and not a couple of walking wanksticks."

"What a dirty mouth!" Blaise pretended to be shocked. "Surely, the Great Hermione Granger could teach me a thing or two with it." Hermione's only answer was a wink and Draco, who'd been growing increasingly uncomfortable with the exchange, cleared his throat.

"What would you do if you could get revenge?" He asked, diverting the conversation away from the rather sinful direction it had taken. "On Weasel, I mean."

Hermione threw her head back, the sound she made somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "I would make sure the bastard lost everything I ever gave to him." Draco had a feeling she didn't just mean material goods.

"What happened exactly?" Blaise asked, at Draco's warning look he shrugged. "The Daily Prophet peddles gossip like a beggar peddles trash. I want to hear this from the source."

Hermione took a long drag on her drink before answering. "I found him balls deep in another woman," she stated plainly. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before opening them again. "It was inevitable. I have no regrets."

The look in her eyes told both men that she was lying, but neither wanted to out her.

"I guess the fucker lives up to his name then," Blaise concluded. "And since you're here with Malfoy and not with Saint Potter…" He didn't need to finish for Hermione to know what he meant. Harry had picked his side.

 _When Hermione walked into the flat to find Ron having sex with that woman, she had just finished a meeting with a travel agent and planning a short trip to Iceland for the both of them._

 _"Wow," was all she could say for a solid thirty seconds._

 _Both sets of eyes had snapped to hers like a worn-out rubber band. She stared at them, and they stared at her, and everyone stared at everyone else and this was definitely not what Hermione had planned._

 _Then she smiled, told him to have a good life and to never contact her for as long as she breathed air. She turned on her heel and walked out of the door, even closing it politely behind her. She'd apparated to number twelve Grimmauld Place when she found Harry and broke down, revealing Ron's adultery._

 _"I told him to tell you!" Harry had exclaimed, prompting Hermione's heart to further break. "He said it was just a one-time thing and he was planning on breaking it off."_

 _"You knew? You knew all along and you never told me?" She couldn't believe it. Harry was supposed to be the honest one, the noble one, the brother she could trust to protect her._

 _"He loves you, Hermione. I didn't think-"_

 _"You didn't think? That seems to be the theme, here!" Hermione had shouted. "Ron was having an affair behind my back for Merlin knows how long and it didn't occur to you that maybe I'd want to know before I walked in on him in our bed with some quidditch groupie?"_

 _"It's not my fault you never put out!" Harry blurted. That he even knew that was a shock, but Ron could be awfully loose-lipped when drunk._

 _Hermione rounded on Harry, wand drawn, the air around her thick with anger. "Excuse me?!" She shrieked. "How dare you, Harry James Potter. How dare you try to pin Ron's mistakes on me. Clearly, maturity is something that has escaped the both of you. The fact that you would defend his actions, regardless of how much you know about our sex lives is telling, Harry. Don't bother to speak to me again. Forever would be too soon."_

 _She stormed out then, and never looked back._

Draco studied Hermione's face as she seemed to get lost in her memories. She bit her bottom lip when she was thoughtful, he noted. Once again, he was caught off guard by the look in her eyes. He expected them to show sadness, anger even. Instead, he saw determination. Snapping out of her reverie, she looked between him and Blaise with a cool resolve.

"Enough reflecting. How will you help me destroy Ronald Weasley?"

* * *

Hermione woke up the next morning predictably headachy and irritable from her night out. She cast about for her wand on her nightstand only to find that both the nightstand and the wand were not where she expected them to be. A moment of sheer panic overtook her before she remembered that she was not at her flat in her own bed, but at Draco Malfoy's flat, in his.

She remembered spending the remainder of her night dancing and drinking with Malfoy and Blaise. The latter of the pair was a wicked dancer, and she enjoyed getting acquainted with him. When she had been too drunk to apparate to her own flat, Malfoy side-alonged her to his, where he put her to bed. She had a vague memory of arguing with him that he should sleep in his own bed since it was his home after all, but she lost that argument when he rather roughly sat her down on the bed, and she instinctively curled up in the silky soft sheets.

All things considered, it was probably the liveliest night she'd had in a while. And with her childhood bully-turned-friend at that. She would be a fool to say she wasn't still skeptical of his motives, but she had reached a point in her self-inflicted isolation that she was also craving the companionship of someone who wouldn't look at her with pity in their eyes or who would offer their unwanted relationship advice. As it were, Draco Malfoy did not look at her with pity nor tell her that there were other fish in the sea. Strange as it seemed, he had been the only one to recognize that she just needed a night away from her carefully curated life to lose herself in the haze of released inhibitions.

She found her wand resting on the nightstand on the opposite of the bed than she was used to, and fixed her rumpled clothing as best as she could. Hermione stepped out of the lavish bedroom and into the hallway. Her feet barely made a sound as she made her way to the living room where Malfoy had unceremoniously draped himself over the black suede sofa. She resisted the urge to wake him with a tickling charm. This budding friendship still had unestablished rules, and despite her childhood shenanigans, she did not like to break the rules.

Instead, she opted for nudging his shoulder. "Malfoy, wake up." No response. She nudged him again, harder this time, and he stirred.

"Coffee," he grumbled, throwing a hand over his eyes. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed his arm away from his face. "Your persistence is annoying."

"Your morning breath is horrible," she retorted, despite not being close enough to know. "And if you want coffee, you'll have to make it yourself; I don't know your kitchen."

"What's there to know? It's just coffee." He sighed but got up anyway and bid her follow him into the immaculate kitchen. She spied a familiar looking device on the counter.

"You continue to surprise me, Draco Malfoy," she said, motioning to the muggle espresso machine. Draco raised an eyebrow as he prepared them drinks.

"People change; isn't that the theme of this relationship?" He handed her a green mug with a smirk. "I certainly saw a side of Hermione Granger I never even knew existed."

"Do you have ingredients for waffles?" He noted with triumph the pink that tinged her cheeks, and gestured around the room.

"Be my guest."

He sat in a chair at his small breakfast table, watching as she began to make the aforementioned breakfast food. He would readily admit that last night turned out far better than he could have predicted. He would have to rearrange the meeting he was supposed to have last night, but that was inconsequential in light of the opportunity he'd had in the form of an inebriated Hermione Granger. She was, for lack of a better term, captivating. Witnessing how very unconstrained she could be was a welcome dissolution of all the things he'd known her to be. She was still terrifyingly intelligent, but she also had a rather naughty sense of humor. When they were dancing, he could feel the heat radiating off her soft skin and felt the sense of urgency with which she pushed her body against his. He would be lying if he said he wasn't physically attracted to her.

As they sat and ate the delicious waffles she cooked, Draco felt the only ounce of pity he would ever muster for Ron. The red headed man didn't even know what he'd lost.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your support. Please leave a review telling me what you think. I would love to hear your thoughts and critiques.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch 3

"Miss Granger, I _do_ hope you've kept your lunch hour free; I had hoped to discuss something with you."

Hermione made a show of opening her date book, running a finger down the page and shaking her head solemnly.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Sloane," she told him, shutting the book with a snap. "Perhaps if you are free, we can discuss it right now?" She gave him a pointed look, knowing as well as he did that he had nothing on his schedule. She was his secretary, after all.

"If you insist, Miss Granger," Sloane drawled. "Please step into my office."

As soon as his back was turned, Hermione scowled. She hated her boss.

Emile Sloane was, for lack of a better term, an egotistical prat. She wasn't quite sure how he managed to rise to the rank of Head of Magical Games and Sports, as he had about as much as athletic ability as a pygmy puff and was just as hairy. She supposed his knowledge of Quidditch was extensive enough, but he had also been quite close to Ludo Bagman, so she speculated that his interests lay more in the money he could make betting on the sport.

Hermione perched on the edge of the overstuffed armchair in front of his desk, mustering up as neutral an expression as possible. He sat in his own ostentatious wing-backed chair and eyed her with somewhat of a hungry look. He'd already taken his lunch, but Hermione suspected that his hunger had less to do with food, and more to do with the fact that the ring she once wore on her left hand was no longer present. She sighed internally at assumed topic at hand.

"As you know Miss Granger, I was very saddened to hear of the termination of your engagement to Mr. Weasley," Sloan began, folding his hands on the desk between them. "Mr. Weasley is a very bright young man, with a good future ahead of him, and for things to not work out between you is certainly a loss."

Hermione fought back a biting remark about how "things not working out" was the direct result of Ron's rather un-bright decision to sow his wild oats behind her back.

What she said was, "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Sloane. Your sympathies are appreciated." She didn't need to be a seer to know where the conversation was headed next.

"Since you were hired two years ago, Miss Granger, you have been an especially invaluable part of this company," Sloane told her. He gestured to the rest of the office, smiling. "Certainly, you are quite skilled with organizational and cleaning charms and I am quite impressed by your domestic prowess. I also find it highly improbable that such a lovely woman as yourself hasn't been scooped up yet. You're a war heroine, Miss Granger, and a beautiful one."

At this, Hermione did scowl. She hated to be reminded of the war that had irreversibly altered her relationship with the world and how she both viewed and was viewed in it. She never asked to be a hero – that was a title thrust upon her by society – and she had no intentions of taking advantage of the fame it afforded her.

"Did I say something to displease you?" Sloane asked, and Hermione could think of several things, but kept her mouth shut and shook her head in favor of letting him continue. "As it were, the point I am trying to make is that I would like to extend an offer of courtship."

"As flattered as I am, Mr. Sloane, I will have to decline," she told him plainly. To her dismay, he did not immediately look dissuaded. She pressed on, "As you made it a point to mention, I have just recently ended an engagement to someone who I have known for most of my life. That being said, I would like to refrain from entering to any relationships for the foreseeable future."

Sloane merely waved away her statement as if she hadn't spoken at all. "There's no need to be shy, Miss Granger, I recognize desire when I see it." He stood from the desk and she tensed, curling her fingers around the wand obscured by her long bell sleeves. "I assure you, dating me would be an honor." He placed a hand on her shoulder and she bristled.

"I advised that you remove your hand, Mr. Sloane," Hermione warned, keeping her eyes trained on an unidentifiable spot in front of her. "I don't recall having given you permission to touch me, and it would be a shame if you left this office with half as many fingers than when you entered."

The grip on her shoulder tightened. "Now see here, Miss Granger-" Sloan blustered, attempting to turn her to face him, but he hadn't gotten very far before Hermione was out of the chair, her wand firmly shoved into the folds of fat where his chin should have been.

"Really, Mr. Sloane, I would hate to have a problem." Her voice was a deadly purr, and for his part, Mr. Sloane realized that it had been a slight mistake to underestimate the woman currently holding him at wand-point.

"You upstart little-" Hermione dug the wand deeper into his skin, eliciting a hiss. "No, it wouldn't do to have a problem."

"Good. You can take this as my resignation, then." Hermione removed her wand and slipped it back into her sleeve. "I do think you'll do just fine without me."

"You're the worst kind of woman, Granger," Sloane hissed, rubbing where she'd jabbed him. "I can see now why things didn't—"

He never got to finish his sentence as he found himself looking at the popcorned texture of the ceiling of his office, having been knocked flat to the floor by a well-placed fist to the face.

Without so much as a backwards glance to her former boss, Hermione closed the door behind her with a slam. She muttered a quiet counter spell to the one that kept the files and projects organized in neat little piles, which sent a flurry of papers and quills and various other office supplies into the air. She gathered the few personal effects she bothered to bring with her to work and left the office, and yet another vestige of her past life, behind.

* * *

The parchment in Draco's hand was the primary source of the frown that cut a harsh line through his handsome face, but he could ignore that for now in favor of the whispered conversation of the two witches he shared the elevator with while ascending to the seventh floor.

 _Did you know? Sloane made a pass and Hermione Granger!_

 _That's not surprising, he tries to bed everything with a vagina and two legs._

 _Well, he certainly didn't go after her looks. At least she got rid of that bush around her head._

 _I hear she's been sleeping with—_

Draco coughed then, alerting the witches to his presence and startling them into silence. He gave them a pointed look, one he hoped came across as annoyance at their frivolous gossip. At least one of the witches had the decency to look embarrassed while the other just sniffed and turned away from him, her disapproval of him evident. She looked like she wanted to make a snippy comment, but the lift doors opened to the floor he needed, and he made a hasty exit.

He hoped what he'd overhead had been false, but when he rounded the corner, he saw the chaos that was the aftermath of an enraged Hermione Granger. He grinned at the damage.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy!" a rather red-faced Sloane asked, huffing his girthy frame through the door to his office. "I do apologize for the mess." Draco raised an eyebrow at his lack of explanation but concluded that Sloane was not so stupid as to implicate himself in the sexual harassment of an employee.

"That Hermione Granger brandished her wand at me!" Sloane huffed, trying and failing to straighten his rumpled robes. "Well, no matter. Did you need something?"

Draco produced a set of forms from the folder in his hand and gave them to Sloane. "I was hoping that you could see to it that these forms are filed in a timely manner-" he gave a sweeping look of disdain at the files strewn upon every surface, "-though I suppose I can make an exception given the recent loss of your secretary."

Sloane's already red face grew a touch redder, and Draco had a fleeting thought that he looked quite like a gone-off pomegranate.

"A necessary change in staff as it were," Sloane frowned, charming the forms to float in an orderly manner to his personal to-do pile. "Good at her job but lacking in the skills I needed her for."

Draco gave a stiff nod. "Have a good day, Mr. Sloane." He turned heel, leaving the still flustered wizard to clean up his department.

By the time the day came to an end, he was exhausted. Since his father's handing down of the title of head of the Malfoy family, Draco had been working hard to change the image from that so often associated with his surname. Six years and a considerable amount of money later and he had established himself as a charming private business man who did not suffer the crimes of his father. He worked from home usually, as investing ones personal wealth didn't require a separate office, but occasionally he needed to make a trip to the Ministry to submit a proposal or form of some kind. He had seen Hermione in passing several times before and so charming her department from some hapless witch was easy.

He'd hoped to see her that day, to go over the particulars of their recent collusion to make Ron Weasley suffer. But he would make do with sending her an owl to invite her to dinner, surely with her new freedom, she would consent.

 _Be ready for dinner at 730 sharp._

 _Wear something nice, Granger; we're going to France._

 _-DM_

It was easy enough to find her address from the employment records the Ministry kept (which he most definitely didn't bribe someone for), and apparated in front of her apartment at 7:15. He was only a little surprised to find a note taped to the door stating that it was unlocked and for him to come inside.

He apartment was cozy, having been decorated in soft blues that accentuated the wood floors and white walls. It was decidedly Hermione Granger, who having heard him enter the apartment, came out of what he assumed to be the bedroom fully dressed and attempting to put in a pair of small gold hoop earrings.

"You clean up nicely," she told him, unabashedly eyeing him from head to toe. "Though I'll thank you to give me a little more than 2 hours' notice next time you want to whisk me away to France."

"It seems as though that was enough time," he said, returning her look of appraisal with one of his own. It was easy to see that her style had improved since they were children, as she had opted for an demure, long-sleeved black dress that fell just below her knees and with a neck line that exposed her shoulders just enough to be alluring. He would be a liar to say that the modest style wasn't suited for her, though his memory of the spicy little number she'd worn to the club a few days ago still stayed fresh in his mind.

"How will be travelling?" Hermione said primly, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Floo. I've had the one at my apartment set up for international travel." He offered his arm and she took it, apparating to his apartment with a pop.

Seven minutes later, they found themselves magicking away the remaining debris of the floo as they stepped out of the fireplace and were greeted by an impeccably uniformed maître d′. The man took one look at Draco, nodded in a silent greeting, and began to lead them down a dimly lit but lavishly decorated corridor. The walkway opened into what looked to be a converted ballroom, with a large willow tree growing from the center of the room. Enchanted lights floated around the space, and the ceiling had been enchanted to look like the midnight sky, providing a feeling over overall wonder and etherealness.

Draco heard the Hermione's small gasp as she took in her surrounds, feeling a smug sense of triumph.

"It's beautiful," she whispered as she took her seat at their table. Draco smirked.

"I'm a Malfoy. Did you expect anything less?"

She rolled her eyes and ignored him in favor of examining the menu. Her working knowledge of French made it slightly less difficult to decide what she wanted, but in the end, she trusted his judgement to order for her.

"Congratulations on your recent resignation," Draco joked, lifting his wine glass in a toast. She frowned but clinked her glass against hers nonetheless, draining it afterwards.

"Emil Sloane is no better than a common slug and just as slimy," she scowled. "He was lucky all I did was left everything a mess. I had half a mind to hex his face into tar and feathers."

"Remind me not to cross you then," Draco said. Hermione narrowed her eyes and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"Might I remind you that much of my adolescence was spent rather cross with you," she quipped. "But we're co-conspirators now, aren't we? Otherwise one would mistake this dinner for a date."

Draco had always been impressed with Hermione's wit, and this night was no exception. He gave a sliver of a smile and folded his hands underneath his chin.

"That's precisely why I asked you here," he admitted, eliciting a curious look from her. "What would make Weaselbee more upset; you living the rest of your life in spinsterhood, or you being in a relationship with me?"

"Are you saying that you want to pretend to be dating?" She hissed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm all for friendship, given that my social circle is rather thin these days, but this is absurd. No one would ever believe we were dating!"

"I beg to differ." He gestured towards the rest of the restaurant, where other diners were not so surreptitiously staring at them. "Already the foundations have been laid. Surely I wouldn't have brought you here if this wasn't my desired intention."

"You've got to be fucking _kidding_ me," Hermione grumbled, resisting the urge to reach across the table and throttle him. The waiter appeared with their food at just that moment, halting the conversation. As soon as he retreated, she continued. "Explain how this possibly makes sense. Ron hates you, and I'm not so sure I don't hate you right now, so please enlighten me."

"I'm a reformed Death Eater, you're the darling of the Golden Trio," Draco explained. "What does the public love more that a redemption story? You, finding solace in the arms of an old enemy after an intensely publicized engagement and break up. Me, finding love with the woman who is everything I once despised but have now come to realize is no more different than myself. The war changed people in many ways. It's not unreasonable. Weasley, if from what I know and what you've told me is true, loves to have his ego stroked-"

"Among other things—" Hermione mumbled.

"I can do without the visuals, thank you," Draco continued, banishing that lewd image from his mind. "And our public romance would be a direct affront to whatever superiority and control he thinks he has."

Hermione mulled over everything he'd said so far. He wasn't wrong, Ron hated Malfoy almost as much as he loved to expound upon his heroism during the final days of the War. She remembered his face after seeing a picture of him in the Prophet; he'd turned a lovely shade of puce and ranted for at least twenty minutes how he felt about Malfoy's acquittal of suspected crimes against the wizarding community. It wasn't one of her fonder memories of Ron, but it lent itself to Draco's point. If Ron believed that they were now in a relationship, it would drive him mad.

"If you're scared, I understand," Draco said, and she cut her eyes at him.

"I'm not afraid, Malfoy," she scoffed, and glanced out at the curious stares and barely concealed whispers. "Merely peeved that you're right."

He raised his glass in another toast, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

* * *

A/N: Hello, lovelies. I hope you are all having a relaxing weekend. Don't forget to leave a comment of how you are enjoying things so far. I am always pleased to hear from you all.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch 4

"It's a shame about the break up," the buxom brunette cooed. Her hand traveled not so stealthily up towards the zipper of his trousers, and a grin spread across Ron's face as he realized her intentions. They were sitting at a table near the window of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Diagon Alley, having just finished dessert, and he was basking in the attention she paid him. She was beautiful, his current paramour, and by the hungry look in her eyes ready to jump his bones at a moment's notice.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of a head of pale blonde hair in the distance, and his smirk turned into a scowl. Just seeing Draco Malfoy could set his mood sour, and this was no exception. Malfoy was a thorn in his side if there ever was one and Ron hated seeing him looking even remotely happy. He noticed that Malfoys small smile was directed at the rather petite woman at his side, who held herself at a distance from him just enough to wonder if she even liked Malfoy at all. Ron couldn't see her face, but he hoped that she turned out to be a boorish hag that would fleece Malfoy for all he was worth.

He turned back to the woman at his own side, giving her an apologetic look. "Sorry," he murmured, moving her hand to rest over the crotch of his jeans. "I got distracted by something foul." The brunette shook her head and licked her lips in a manner that sent Ron's faculties stumbling against the more primal parts of his mind.

"A shame indeed, that Hermione Granger abandoned such a noble hero," Ron's companion continued to purr, palming his manhood over the fabric of his pants. He was grateful for the length of the tablecloth, as he was sure that his thrill with the situation would be obvious otherwise. "You must be devastated, you poor thing. I hope I can help alleviate some of your pain."

One of the advantages of being a beloved war hero was the ability to indulge in the more salacious activities of the world and Ron was by now a pro of paying for a meal before it was even over lest he be whisked away to engage in sordid pleasures. The woman was just as unsubtle as Ron liked his one-night stands, and with little more than a flick of his wrist, he apparated them out of the restaurant and to his bedroom.

* * *

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find the morning papers devoid of any article or blurb regarding her "date" with Malfoy. While she agreed with his logic, she asked him to give her time to decide if it was the angle she wanted to take. She knew nothing would infuriate Ron more than seeing her on the arm of his most hated enemy, but she also knew the larger repercussions of publicly allying herself with Malfoy.

It occurred to her that all this work for Ron was exactly the sort of thing she had come to hate about herself. She prided herself of being intelligent, and her intelligence would be her saving grace. She had come to terms with the fact that the least intelligent thing she'd done was fall in love with her former friend. It was a truth too harsh to be real, but one she had to face every day she looked at the dark circles under her eyes and the cold, aching emptiness in her heart.

She knew it was absurd to have let things get as far as they had. Growing up as a girl who was valued only for the usefulness she provided by way of her intelligence, she had always felt alone. Sure, she was surrounded by people who praised her and by extension those that made use of her skills made it that she was never alone in the physical sense; however, she'd never known someone to look past her mind until she'd met Ron and Harry. Harry was like a brother to her, but Ron… Ron was the cool salve of desire that healed the wound of loneliness that plagued her. It might have taken him a little while, but he had eventually saw her as more than just a convenient source of knowledge. He called her pretty, he'd kissed her with a fervor that left her trembling, he'd been there when it seemed like war would end the very world she'd loved. She gave herself to him entirely, which left her vulnerable to the abuse that she would suffer at his hands.

Ron never hit her- he was at least that smart. It was his words that left the scars. He, like everyone else, had been affected by the war, and he became a simmering pot of anger and resentment that she'd never expect from him. She could see that he was hurting. Through it all, she had assumed that he needed her, that he needed her to keep him from jumping from the precipice of destruction he teetered on.

In reality, it was _she_ who needed _him_.

It was a revelation that had been wholly earth-shattering. But she was Hermione Granger and she was smart, but she was also persistent and would make things work with him. And she did everything in her power to keep him interested, to keep him needing her just as much as she needed him. In the process, she lost the self that she was familiar with, but that also meant losing that loneliness she'd resigned herself to so long ago. She let him do whatever he wanted, as long as he returned to her in the end. For a time, he did return to her. Maybe his touch wasn't as eager, and his looks not as longing. But he was hers, until one day he wasn't.

That was the day she left. She didn't know why this moment was the moment she decided to leave, as in retrospect there were plenty other signs and opportunities. Maybe it was because she was tired. She was all effort with no returns, and for once, she didn't want to be the smart one. This was her mess and she didn't want to clean it up. She wanted to burn the pile of flaming trash that was her relationship with Ron Weasley, and quite possibly burn the man himself.

Eventually, Hermione decided to stop thinking so much about it. She had other, more pressing issues, like what she was going to do for work now that she had so abruptly quit her position with the ministry. It wasn't like it would be hard to find another place to work; she was qualified for a lot of jobs, just not interested in most of them.

She picked up her quill and lay out a bit of parchment. It was time to owl an old ally.

* * *

"Draco Malfoy!"

Draco winced. He could tell by the shrillness of the exclamation that he was in for the tongue lashing of a lifetime. He should have expected as much from the raven-haired witch barreling her way towards him. She looked just as fierce and beautiful as ever, but he knew that came at the price of her barbed tongue.

"You're a piece of shit Draco, for showing your face around here," Pansy Parkinson scolded as she landed a slap to his arm. "I haven't heard from you in weeks and suddenly you want to come around asking for fucking favors? Fat fucking chance."

Draco flashed her a smile that would melt any other witch's cold countenance, but Pansy merely scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Pans. I'm sorry I've been so out of touch, I've just been busy," He told her, and honestly, he had been busy. He knew it wasn't an excuse to ignore his childhood friend, but now was as good a time as ever to apologize. "I thought you would rather see me in person than hear by owl my lame excuses."

"I should make you take your apology and shove it up the orifice of your choice, Draco," She hissed. Her eyes narrowed and she eyed him up and down, noticing for the first time how casually he was dressed and the thick stack of papers he held in his hands. He waited while she scrutinized him, a lazy smile plastered to his face. Finally, she sighed. "You're lucky I'm a gracious woman and forgive easily."

"There's the Pansy we all know and love," Draco said, patting her head affectionately. She swatted his hand away and beckoned for him to follow her to the drawing room.

While he took a seat in a dark armchair, Pansy arranged herself comfortably across a lavishly carved settee and motioned for him to give her the files in his hand. Her dark eyes scanned the pages, the frown on her face deepening until she finally scowled and nearly tossed the pages back to him.

"What the fuck is this, Draco?" She demanded. Draco grinned and folded his hands behind his head. "I don't meddle in the affairs of people I have no interest in. Particularly Gryffindors who sought to make my life a living hell in recent years."

It was no secret that after the war Pansy Parkinson had become somewhat of a social outcast. Known as the girl who tried to turn over Harry Potter to Voldemort during the final battle, she was criticized in the media as a simpering heiress with too much money and not enough backbone. There were a few former schoolmates-turned-ministry officials who had saw to it that her brief house arrest following the war was made none to pleasant with incessant house visits and overly-suspicious observation when she finally was released from house arrest. She had been just a child then, a scared child like all the rest of them, and while she knew her actions had been wrong, she also knew her subsequent treatment had been overdone.

"I _know_ you Pansy," Draco started. "I know you better than most and know how much you enjoy seeing a person suffer for their slights against you. We've all changed since the war, but I think we can both agree that debts must be paid, and wrongs righted. This is the perfect opportunity."

Pansy regarded him carefully. Of course, she'd known about the breakup between that swot Granger and the unbearably Weasley boy, but like she'd told Draco, she didn't concern herself much with it. If they suffered, so be it; she cared little for the trifling love lives of two people she hated. What would she gain by siding with one or the other, especially given she hadn't seen or spoken to either one of them since they'd left school?

"And besides, I know you love mischief just as much as Blaise and he's already agreed to help," Draco added, and at that, Pansy cracked a small smile. "Granger isn't exactly the fondest of the press and having a companion would make her a lot more willing to go along with all this. And you'd get the positive exposure from being linked with a War Hero. Hermione's notorious for being the most forgiving of the trio; it makes sense for her to been seen with a disgraced heiress, if you'll excuse the term."

Pansy waved the apology away, looking thoughtful for a moment before speaking. "What about Potter; what's his role in all this?"

"I don't know. Granger doesn't talk about him much." Draco frowned, realizing that Hermione hadn't exactly told he and Blaise what her break from Ron had meant for her friendship with the Chosen One. It must have been strained since she hadn't mentioned him at all since they'd first began plotting, but he didn't think that the bespectacled boy would be much of a nuisance.

"I guess then we can burn that bridge when we get to it." Pansy stood and rang a small bell, summoning an ancient looking house elf to the room. "Desmond, please make a reservation for two with my stylist for tomorrow at eleven."

"For two? You plan on approaching Granger _today_?" Draco asked. He was happy that she agreed to help but was hesitant to believe that Pansy would be able to ingratiate herself to Hermione so quickly.

"There is no time to waste," Pansy tittered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, nothing says revenge like a makeover and boy, does that witch need it. Now, you know her address and I do not. Take me there."

She didn't leave much room for discussion, and with an inward sigh, Draco apparated them away.

Hermione had just finished sending off a few owls with applications for work when there was a sharp knock at her door. Few people knew of her physical address and she approached the door, her wand at the ready hidden in her sleeve. She peered through the peephole, stepping back and flinging the door open in surprise at her guests.

"Parkinson?" Hermione blurted, to which Pansy Parkinson smile widely. "What are you doing here?"

"I offer an olive branch," Pansy said simply, pushing past her and into the flat despite the lack of formal invitation to do so. "Seems as if we have a common goal; enemy of my enemy and whatnot."

Hermione's gaze flickered to Draco before moving back to the trim witch who'd perched daintily on the edge of an armchair. "Right. And what grievance have you against Ron Weasley?" She inquired. She had no doubt that Malfoy had something to do with the sudden appearance of her second most hated former school mate.

"Let's just say that the depressing loneliness of house arrest was made even more unbearable by the most gracious and humble Percy Weasley. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of ways to shrink his head and squish it between my fingers."

"Vivid imagery aside," Draco interjected, having come to stand behind Pansy's armchair. "I thought Pansy and you could talk about… stuff." Both women looked at him as if he'd spontaneously sported an extra set of ears.

"I think what Draco means is that the best revenge is a life well lived, and you look miserable."

 _Well_ , Hermione thought, _Pansy certainly doesn't mince her words_.

* * *

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I couldn't help but wonder what brought you back here."

Hermione looked with bored eyes at Blaise; she was already a few drinks in. The handsome black man slid onto the bar stool beside her, a drink already in his hand. She tossed back the rest of her drink before pushing the glass away to be refilled.

"It's better than being trapped in my apartment," she confessed, to which he raised a skeptical eyebrow. "When you give yourself completely to a person for better part of six years, it gets lonely once they're gone."

"Ah, but there are much better remedies for loneliness," Blaise said over the rim of his own firewhiskey glass. Unlike last time, she didn't seem to liken to his innuendo and instead opted to turn in her seat and gaze out at the dance floor.

"Did Malfoy tell you his plans?" She asked, eyes flickering over the crowd indiscriminately. "He thinks it would be a good idea if we pretended to be dating."

Blaise let out a soft chuckle. Draco _had_ told him his intentions, and Blaise considered it an option, but a last ditch one at best. Besides, the witch in front of him was far too intelligent to accept such a proposal.

"I agree with his logic, but I'm not exactly in a position to be in a relationship of any kind," she continued. "I'm just coming off of one media shitstorm and I don't need another."

"And so you ally yourself with snakes?"

"Who says I myself am not a snake?" She glanced at him briefly before shaking her head and returning her attention to the mass of dancers losing themselves in the music. "I may not have been sorted into Slytherin, but there was a reason Harry, Ron and I got away with a lot of shit. Lies and deception aren't completely beneath me."

Blaise resisted the urge to make a joke about what could happen if he were beneath her. "I heard Pansy is now in on this little plot," he said. Hermione smiled over her freshly refilled glass.

"She set an appointment at her stylist tomorrow," she told him. "I know she's only doing it as a favor to Malfoy, but it's nice to speak with a someone not directly connected to Ronald."

"What, I'm not enough entertainment?" He teased, winking at her.

Hermione set her glass down and ran a dainty finger up his arm. "I'm sure you could be all the entertainment I need, Blaise," she purred, eyes sharp beneath the haze of inebriation. "But you and I both know it would end in heartbreak. I don't share well, and you're too much of a free lover for me."

Blaise took her hand into both of his own and kissed her fingers. "As astute as ever." He guided her up out of her seat. "Now are we going to sit here chatting all night, or are we going to dance?"

Hermione merely smiled and allowed him to pull her to the dance floor.

* * *

"Master Malfoy, your mother has requested that you take your lunch with her today, in the sun room."

Draco nodded his assent and the house elf disappeared from his study. He sighed. He hated returning to Malfoy Manor, but he knew his mother wouldn't dare visit him in his comparatively common flat in Diagon Alley. He finished making adjustments to the ledger he'd been working on and apparated directly into the sun room.

"I do wish you wouldn't do that," Narcissa Malfoy said, looking unruffled a she sipped from a delicate looking teacup. "It's rather rude and frightens the birds." She glanced over at a large cage in the corner housing several colorful birds who were ruffling their feathers and making small squeaks of annoyance.

"A pleasure as always, Mother." Draco placed a gentle kiss on his mother's cheek and took the seat across from her. "Is there a reason you called me so suddenly for lunch, or did I overlook an invitation you sent? I'm quite busy these days."

Narcissa didn't seemed fazed at his feigned ignorance. "I'm a little insulted that you didn't think to introduce me to your girlfriend, Draco," she scolded. "I never wished to find out the details of my only child's love life through the gossip vine."

"Oh, that," Draco said airily, tucking into the meal that had appeared before him. "I insisted upon waiting to introduce you until I was sure things were serious between us." His mother didn't look like she believed that for a second, but she didn't protest.

"Are you serious about this woman, Draco?" She instead asked. She could practically see the gears turning in his head; they were Malfoys - always planning, always plotting - and she knew that his actions weren't without reason, even if she didn't believe the ones he provided.

"We're taking things slow, Mother." He knew she didn't believe him, but also knew she had no reason to question his intentions. "We are just getting to know each other."

"Well, you should invite her for tea," Narcissa suggested. "I would love to have tea with Miss Granger, especially given the unfortunate the circumstances of our prior acquaintance."

 _You mean when Barmy Aunt Bella tortured her in the Parlor?_ Draco thought. _Yes, unfortunate indeed._

"I'll discuss it with her next time we see each other," Draco told his mother, prompting a smile from the woman.

Draco sighed internally, he knew one of the consequences of his scheme of a false romance was that his mother would insist on all the formalities her pureblood upbringing had taught her were necessary during courtship. It would be a pain trying to convince Hermione to agree to meet with his mother, but he knew she would eventually agree.

The rest of the lunch with Narcissa passed in relative mediocrity, and he left his mother to return to whatever it she got up to in his absence. He dreaded having to confront Hermione about it, but if his pan was going to be successful it needed to be as convincing as possible.

Upon his return to the office, he was surprised to find an owl waiting at his window. He took the envelope it held, gave it a treat and began opening the letter as it flew away.

 _Malfoy,_

 _There is a charity event tonight. Be at The Langham in London tonight at 6._

 _HG_

He smiled and glanced at the clock, 3PM. He had plenty of time to prepare and still a few things to take care of before then. He knew Hermione had something planned. She had been relatively dodgy of the press in the past month, so to attend an event where they were sure to be seen together was a step in a bold direction. He briefly wondered how her joint appointment at Pansy's stylist had gone, but he supposed he would be finding out tonight.

With a little more pep in his step, he set to work finishing the few bits of miscellaneous paperwork he'd left over before lunch. If tonight was going to be as eventful as he hoped, he wanted to have plenty of time tomorrow to recover.


End file.
